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Chapter Text

Kyle had been up since six. Not because he wanted to be, it just happened. He’d tossed around in bed, staring at the ceiling until he finally gave up and took a shower. When he came back, his hair was still damp and curling against his forehead. Senior year. Last first day.

He opened his laptop, clicked “start call,” and waited for the chaos.

The first to answer was Stan, of course. His face filled the screen, squinting into the camera, hair sticking in every direction.

“Dude, seriously?” Stan’s voice was gravelly from sleep. “It’s not even seven.”

“Yeah, and? You’d sleep through the whole day if I didn’t call,” Kyle said, combing his fingers through his curls. “Get up. It’s senior year, man.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to be awake for it yet.” Stan groaned but sat up anyway.

Another box popped up, Cartman, glaring, blanket pulled up to his chin. “I swear to God, Kyle. You’re actually insane. Calling people at dawn like we’re in the army.”

“Shut up, Cartman,” Kyle said automatically.

Wendy and Bebe joined almost at the same time. Wendy was brushing her hair, already dressed, while Bebe leaned close to the camera, grinning.

“Aw, this is cute,” Bebe said. “Kyle’s trying to be sentimental.”

“I’m not being sentimental,” Kyle shot back. “I just don’t want anyone late.”

“Mm-hm,” Wendy hummed, clearly amused.

On another screen, Clyde flopped onto his stomach, phone half-covering his face. “I hate you for this, Kyle. Just so you know.”

“You’ll live,” Kyle said.

Butters popped up cheerful as ever, fully dressed with his hair combed down. “Well gosh, I think it’s real swell we’re all talking before school. Makes the morning feel special!”

“See? Butters gets it,” Kyle said.

Kenny’s square lit up, showing nothing but the ceiling. His voice came muffled from somewhere off-screen. “Ky, if you don’t end this call in five minutes, I’m hanging up.”

“You’ll live.” Kyle laughed.

Then Craig and Tweek appeared, Craig sitting back in his desk chair, hoodie on, while Tweek buzzed around in the background, muttering about needing more coffee.

“This better not be a daily thing,” Craig said flatly.

“It’s not,” Kyle assured. “Just today.”

“Good,” Craig replied, deadpan.

Bebe laughed. “You guys are acting like Kyle woke you up at 4 a.m. It’s literally almost time for senior sunrise anyways.”

Clyde groaned in exhaustion.

The call dissolved into overlapping voices, Wendy talking about which teachers they’d probably get stuck with, Bebe asking what everyone was wearing, Kenny groaning dramatically every two minutes, and Tweek panicking about his shoes while Craig told him to calm down.

Stan mostly listened, chin resting on his hand, eyes flicking to Kyle’s screen more than he wanted to admit. Kyle wasn’t doing anything special, just sitting there, hair still damp, rolling his eyes at Cartman’s complaining, smiling a little when Bebe cracked a joke. But there was something about the way Kyle leaned closer to the screen, focused, half-laughing with the girls, it pulled Stan’s attention and kept it there.

He realized too late that he’d been staring, quickly looking down at his blanket and pretending to adjust his camera.

“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Kyle said, pulling everyone back on track. “We’re meeting on the field before 6:30, right?”

“Yup,” Wendy confirmed.

“Fine by me,” Clyde mumbled.

“Sounds good,” Stan added, trying to sound casual.

Cartman groaned again. “This is gonna be the dumbest year of our lives.”

Kyle smirked. “Pretty sure you said that every year.”

“Yeah, and I’ve been right every time,” Cartman shot back.

Everyone laughed, even Stan, though his eyes drifted once more to Kyle’s grin before he caught himself.

The call kept going, messy, overlapping, full of jokes and complaints. Just like always. But underneath it all, Stan felt something else humming, something he didn’t say out loud.

Last year. Last chance.

⸻

By the time the sun started to creep over the mountains, the South Park High senior class was already gathering on the football field. Blankets were spread across the grass, kids huddled in sweatshirts and hoodies, most of them holding coffee cups or energy drinks.

Stan, Kyle, Cartman, Kenny, Wendy, Bebe, Craig, Tweek, Clyde, Butters, Tolkien, and the rest of their crew had claimed a patch of grass near the fifty-yard line, throwing their bags down to mark the spot.

“God, it’s freezing,” Clyde muttered, wrapping his hoodie tighter.

“It’s literally September,” Tolkien said, dropping his backpack. “You’ll survive.”

“I can’t feel my hands,” Clyde complained louder, flopping onto the blanket.

Wendy showed up balancing three drinks, handing one to Kyle. “Here. I figured you wouldn’t think to stop for anything.”

Kyle blinked, then took it with a small smile. “Hot chocolate?”

“Yep.” Wendy sat down beside Bebe, who was also sipping her coffee. “You’ll thank me when you’re not shivering in five minutes.”

“Thanks,” Kyle said, wrapping his fingers around the cup. Steam curled up into the cold morning air.

Cartman sat cross-legged a few feet away, already digging through a bag of chips. “Senior year, baby. One more year of hell before we’re free.”

“Can you not talk with your mouth full?” Bebe wrinkled her nose.

“Can you not be so judgy at six in the morning?” Cartman shot back.

“Why are you eating chips at six in the morning?” Wendy said flatly, not even looking up.

“Ay!”

The group settled in, everyone talking over each other, Kenny mumbling something under his hood, Token and Clyde arguing about which teachers were going to ruin their year, Tweek panicking about whether he’d locked Craig’s front door, Craig ignoring him entirely. Butters had brought a small thermos of his mom’s cocoa and insisted everyone try some.

Stan sat back on his elbows, the cool grass damp beneath him, and glanced toward Kyle.

Kyle had pulled his hoodie tighter, curls sticking out from under the hood, steam rising from the cup Wendy had handed him. He blew on it before taking a careful sip, lips pressing against the edge. The faint orange glow of the sunrise painted his cheeks.

Stan didn’t realize how long he was staring until Clyde threw a wadded-up napkin at him.

“Dude, you look dead. You good?” Clyde asked, half-laughing.

Stan blinked, sitting up straighter. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

“Same,” Clyde muttered, laying back down.

Kyle hadn’t noticed. He was busy laughing at something Bebe said, his shoulders shaking, hot chocolate balanced carefully in his hands.

Stan looked away, eyes on the sky. The sun was just starting to peek over the mountains, streaks of pink and gold spreading across the clouds. Voices all around the field quieted for a moment as everyone took it in.

“This is kinda nice,” Wendy admitted.

“Kinda cold,” Kenny muttered.

“Kinda boring,” Cartman added, though he was still eating chips.

Butters let out a content sigh. “Gosh, I think it’s real magical. All of us together, watching the sunrise. Like a movie.”

Bebe laughed softly. “Yeah, like the cheesy part of a movie.”

“Shut up,” Wendy said, but she was smiling.

The group fell into a quiet lull, the chatter dying down as the sun climbed higher. Stan leaned back again, hands behind his head, pretending to focus on the sky, but his eyes drifted once more, just for a second, to Kyle sipping his drink, curls brushing his forehead, the light catching in his hair.

He caught himself, heart thumping, and forced his gaze back to the horizon.

One last first sunrise. One last year.

⸻

The bell hadn’t even rung yet and the halls were already packed. Seniors shoved past underclassmen, everyone crowding by lockers, comparing schedules, trying to look like they weren’t completely lost.

“Alright, people,” Wendy said, scanning her paper. “First period… English lit. Kyle?”

Kyle checked his own. “Same. At least I don’t have to suffer alone.”

“Aw, that’s cute,” Bebe teased, looping her arm through Wendy’s.

“Shut up,” Wendy muttered, though she smiled anyway.

“Where’d you get stuck, Stan?” Kyle asked.

“Math,” Stan sighed. “With Mr. Fitzgerald.”

Kyle winced. “Ouch.”

“Tell me about it,” Stan muttered, already dreading it.

Cartman grinned, waving his own schedule like a victory flag. “Ha! I’ve got study hall first period. While you nerds are suffering, I’ll be catching up on important things.”

“Like sleeping and eating?” Clyde said flatly.

“Like minding my own business, Clyde,” Cartman shot back.

The group split at the hall intersection, Kyle and Wendy peeling off toward English, Stan toward math, the rest scattering across the building.

⸻

Stan trudged into math and dropped into the back row, already yawning. Mr. Fitzgerald was at the board writing out some equation the size of a wall mural.

Clyde sat a couple seats over, groaning. “Why do they even give us homework the first day?”

“Because this school sucks,” Stan muttered, doodling in his notebook instead of paying attention.

Meanwhile, across the building, Kyle and Wendy slipped into their English class and sat side by side near the window.

“Okay, this doesn’t seem too bad,” Kyle said, scanning the syllabus. “We’ve got essays, presentations, reading quizzes…”

“You call that not too bad?” Wendy raised an eyebrow.

Kyle shrugged. “Could be worse.”

When the teacher asked for introductions, Kyle gave his standard: “Kyle Broflovski. I like debate, and I plan on majoring in law.” Straightforward. Efficient. No nonsense.

Wendy nudged him afterward. “Classic Kyle answer.”

“Better than Clyde’s answer,” Kyle whispered back. “’Hi, I’m Clyde. I’m tired.’”

Wendy stifled a laugh.

Classes blurred together. Tweek panicked through chemistry, spilling water across his desk while Craig calmly moved their books out of the way. Kenny nearly got sent out of history for making jokes under his breath. Cartman spent study hall eating an entire bag of Doritos before wandering the halls and trying to talk his way into free food from the cafeteria staff.

By the time fourth period ended, everyone was starving.

The group reconvened at their usual table in the corner of the cafeteria, trays loaded with questionable food.

Kyle dropped into his seat next to Stan, yawning so hard his eyes watered.

“Wow,” Clyde said. “Look who’s tired now.”

“Didn’t you wake us all up at six this morning?” Bebe added, smirking.

Kyle groaned, resting his forehead against his hands. “I regret nothing.”

“Yes you do,” Wendy said, taking a sip of her water. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep in your pizza.”

“Shut up,” Kyle muttered, but it came out weak.

Stan shifted slightly when Kyle lifted his head just enough to lean it against Stan’s shoulder instead. It was casual, like Kyle didn’t even think about it, just tired, searching for a place to rest.

But Stan froze. His whole body went rigid, heat creeping into his face. He forced himself to keep eating, stabbing at his fries like nothing was happening.

Cartman caught it immediately. “Aw, look, it’s like a rom-com. Kyle wakes us up, then gets all sleepy and cuddly-“

“Say another word and I’ll dump this milk on your head,” Kyle mumbled, eyes still closed.

Cartman shut up, but smirked into his sandwich.

Bebe snickered. Wendy rolled her eyes.

Stan stared very hard at his tray, trying to ignore the weight against his shoulder, the faint warmth through his hoodie. He could feel the blush rising but kept his head down, pretending nothing was out of the ordinary.

It was just lunch. Just Kyle. Just… nothing.

Right. Nothing.

Chapter Text

The final bell rang, and with it came that strange combination of relief and exhaustion that only the first day of school could bring. The halls buzzed with chatter, kids comparing schedules, griping about teachers, bragging about how easy the year was going to be. Stan leaned against the lockers by the exit, waiting for Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman to make their way through the crowd.

Kyle appeared first, weaving through the chaos, curls a little frizzy from the long day. He spotted Stan and gave a tired smile. “Man, I’m wiped.”

“Yeah,” Stan chuckled, straightening. “C’mon, I’ll drive you guys home. Truck’s out back.”

Kenny trotted up next, backpack half-zipped, and Cartman lumbered in after him, looking put out.

“I’m calling shotgun,” Kyle said immediately, adjusting the strap of his bag. He was shorter than Stan by a lot, but somehow he said it like he had seniority over everyone.

Cartman groaned. “Aw, goddammit. You always call shotgun, jew.”

“Yeah, because you’d just fall asleep in the front and drool on the window,” Kyle shot back, already heading for the doors.

Kenny laughed, muffled behind his hood. “He’s not wrong.”

Outside, the late afternoon air was warm but starting to cool off. Stan led the way to his truck parked at the far end of the lot. Kyle hopped into the passenger seat like it was tradition, tossing his bag at his feet. Kenny and Cartman clambered into the back, Kenny stretching out across most of the seat while Cartman shoved at him to make room.

Stan turned the key, the old engine grumbling awake. He plugged his phone into the aux, and a mellow playlist filled the car, nothing too loud, just something to ease the post-first-day haze.

“So how was everyone’s day?” Stan asked as he pulled out of the lot.

“Mine sucked,” Cartman declared immediately. “I got Mr. Hayes for math. That guy’s a Nazi.”

“He’s not a Nazi, dude,” Kyle sighed, resting his head against the window. “He just doesn’t let you eat in class.”

“Exactly! Fascist.”

Kenny snickered. “I had him last year. Just don’t fall asleep and you’ll be fine.”

Kyle let out a yawn, the kind he tried to stifle with the back of his hand. “Wendy and I lucked out, we’ve got first period together. But after that…ugh. I feel like I’ve been walking across the entire building all day.”

Stan glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Kyle looked smaller when he was tired, like the weight of his curls was too much to carry.

“Didn’t you wake up before everyone else this morning?” Kenny asked from the back.

Kyle gave a faint smile. “Yeah. And now I’m paying for it.”

“Serves you right,” Cartman muttered.

Kyle rolled his eyes but didn’t bother responding. Instead, he shifted in his seat, pulling his knees up a little and leaning his head against the edge of the headrest. His curls brushed against the glass, catching the fading sunlight.

Stan gripped the wheel a little tighter, hoping no one noticed how quiet he’d gone. He wanted to say something, something dumb like you can crash at my place if you’re too tired to walk home from yours, but he bit it back.

The music carried them through the quiet stretch of road. Kenny started talking about a weird kid in his history class who tried to start a conspiracy debate about aliens, and Cartman immediately jumped in to argue. The two of them bickered in the backseat, their voices rising and falling like background noise.

Stan just kept driving, stealing little glances at Kyle beside him. Kyle’s eyes had slipped half-shut, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. His hand rested loosely in his lap, the other fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

Kyle cracked one eye open at the sound of Cartman yelling about “government cover-ups.” “You guys are idiots,” he murmured, voice soft and drowsy.

Stan smiled without meaning to.

The ride home was like that, Cartman ranting, Kenny laughing, Kyle drifting, Stan just driving and soaking in the small things he couldn’t say out loud.

⸻

The truck rattled down the familiar neighborhood streets, the sun dipping lower behind the trees. The arguing in the back had shifted from “government cover-ups” to whether or not Taco Bell counted as “real Mexican food.”

“It is Mexican food, Kenny! They got tacos, burritos-“

“It’s fast food, dude,” Kenny interrupted, laughing. “There’s a difference.”

Kyle groaned softly, rubbing his temple. “Can you two not yell in my ear while I’m trying to stay awake?”

Stan glanced sideways. Kyle’s head had slipped against the seat, his curls a little messy, eyes heavy. Stan had to force his attention back on the road.

“First stop- Cartman’s,” Stan announced, pulling up outside the big beige house at the corner.

Cartman unbuckled with a grunt. “Finally. I need snacks.” He shoved Kenny’s legs off him to slide out, then leaned back in. “See you losers tomorrow.”

“Bye,” Kyle said flatly, already half-asleep.

Cartman shot him a glare but didn’t bother with a comeback. The door slammed, and Stan eased the truck forward again.

Kenny leaned up between the seats, still grinning. “Man, he’s gonna crash so hard when classes actually get harder. Hayes is gonna eat him alive.”

Kyle let out a little laugh at that, then yawned.

Stan pulled into the next block, braking in front of Kenny’s small house. “You good?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Kenny said, slinging his half-zipped backpack onto one shoulder. “Thanks for the ride, man.”

“No problem.”

Kenny hopped out, giving a casual wave before heading up the cracked walkway. Stan waited until the door shut behind him before rolling forward again.

Now it was just him and Kyle. The truck felt quieter without the other two filling the space, just the low hum of the engine and the playlist still drifting softly through the speakers.

Kyle shifted, sitting up a little straighter. “Thanks for driving us,” he said, voice low with tiredness. “You didn’t have to, you know.”

Stan shook his head. “Nah, I don’t mind. Kinda nice, actually.”

Kyle smiled faintly and went back to staring out the window. The streetlights flickered on as they turned down his block, the sky streaked with the last traces of orange.

When Stan finally slowed in front of Kyle’s house, Kyle lingered in the seat for a moment, like he wasn’t ready to move. He unbuckled slowly, gathering his bag.

“See you tomorrow?” Stan asked, trying to keep his tone even.

“Yeah. Bright and early again,” Kyle said with a little smirk. “I’ll try not to wake everyone up this time.”

Stan laughed softly. “No promises.”

Kyle opened the door, stepping down onto the curb. He was shorter, so when he turned back to lean against the open door, he had to tilt his head up slightly to look at Stan. For some reason, Stan felt his chest tighten.

“Seriously, though,” Kyle said, his voice a little gentler, “thanks for the ride. You’re a good friend, Stan.”

Stan swallowed, gripping the steering wheel tighter than he needed to. “Anytime, dude.”

Kyle gave him one last tired smile before closing the door and jogging up the path to his house. Stan waited until Kyle was inside before pulling away, the warmth of that smile lingering longer than he’d admit.

⸻

Kyle dumped his backpack on the floor the second he stepped through his bedroom door. His whole body felt like it was carrying the weight of the entire first day of senior year. He didn’t bother changing out of his jeans right away, just toed off his sneakers, peeled off his hoodie, and dropped face-first into bed.

He meant to just lie there for a second. Maybe scroll through his phone, maybe complain in the group chat about how much walking he’d done today. Instead, the warmth of the blanket and the quiet hum of his ceiling fan lulled him into a nap before he could even think.

When he cracked his eyes open again, the room was darker, the soft orange of the sunset replaced by the deeper blue of early evening. He squinted at his clock. 6:02.

“Shit,” he mumbled, fumbling for his phone.

The screen lit up with notifications: 10 missed calls from the senior group chat. Like… fifty texts scrolling down in messy bursts of capslock and inside jokes. And one new incoming group call still going.

Kyle groaned, running a hand over his face. His curls were sticking up in weird directions, flattened on one side, puffed up on the other. He didn’t care, he just hit join call.

The screen filled with a mosaic of faces: Wendy sitting cross-legged with her hair in a bun, Bebe leaning against her headboard, Kenny in his hoodie eating something straight out of the bag, Cartman sprawled out with his phone angled unflatteringly under his chin, Craig and Tweek squeezed together on the bed in Craig’s room.

“Kyle finally woke up,” Wendy laughed. “Look at you. Bedhead and everything.” Bebe leaned in closer to her camera. “Aw, that’s kinda cute, though.” Kyle rubbed his eyes and sighed. “I wasn’t even out that long.”

“Dude,” Kenny muffled through a mouthful of chips, “you passed out for, like, three hours. We tried calling you ten times.”

“Eleven,” Cartman corrected smugly. “I called twice, but one of them doesn’t count because I hung up right away.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, reaching for the water bottle on his nightstand. “Great. Now everyone’s seen me half-asleep.”

From his little square on the screen, Stan’s voice came through, calm and steady. “Could be worse. At least you didn’t drool on camera.”

Kyle gave him a look, even though his own camera only showed him slouched against his pillows with his curls sticking out like a halo of chaos.

Bebe giggled. “You kinda look like a little kid who got woken up from naptime.”

Kyle huffed but couldn’t stop a small smile. He tucked his knees up under his chin, settling back against the headboard, trying to shake off the fog of sleep while everyone else kept laughing and talking.

Kyle pulled his blanket over his shoulders, one hand still absentmindedly scrunching the curls at the back of his head. His hair was a lost cause tonight, and everyone on the call knew it.

“So what’d I miss?” he asked, finally sounding more awake.

“Oh my god, everything,” Bebe said dramatically. “Clyde tried to chug a Coke on camera and ended up spilling it all over his keyboard. He had to leave to clean it up, and we bullied him out of coming back.”

“He’ll be back,” Craig said flatly, not looking up from whatever game he was playing in the background.

“And Cartman,” Wendy added, a mischievous grin tugging at her mouth, “spent twenty minutes ranting about how senior year doesn’t matter because he’s already destined to be famous.”

“Not destined,” Cartman cut in, indignant. His phone angle was still all chin. “Guaranteed. All of you are gonna be jealous when I don’t have to sit in college debt like the rest of you.”

“You’re not even passing math,” Kyle muttered, sipping from his water bottle.

“Shut up, Kyle!”

Everyone let out a laugh.

Kyle shook his head, biting back a smile as Wendy leaned forward to speak again. “Anyway, Kenny’s the only one who actually told us something real, he met this weird conspiracy guy in history.”

“Oh yeah,” Kenny perked up, crumbs dusting his hoodie. “Dude’s convinced the moon landing was filmed in Denver.”

“That’s so specific,” Tweek said, eyes wide. He was practically curled into Craig’s side, twitching every so often while Craig absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair. “Why Denver?!”

“Because he thinks the mountains make good backdrops or some crap.”

The whole group laughed again, but Stan barely heard. His gaze flicked to his screen every few seconds, catching the way Kyle curled up tighter in his blanket, how his curls fell across his forehead in uneven tufts, how his lips pulled into a soft, sleepy smile at other people’s jokes.

Kyle noticed him staring once, squinting suspiciously at the camera. “What?”

Stan’s ears went hot. He shook his head quickly. “Nothing. Just zoned out.”

Kyle hummed, not entirely convinced, but turned his attention back to Bebe, who was in the middle of arguing with Cartman about whether pineapple on pizza was a crime.

The call carried on like that for another hour: chaotic, funny, a little too loud at times. Clyde did eventually reappear, claiming he “totally fixed everything” only for his mic to glitch so badly that everyone muted him. Wendy and Bebe started planning out their senior year outfits. Kenny threatened to actually test out some conspiracy just to mess with his history class.

Through it all, Kyle stayed wrapped up in his blanket, hair still a mess, occasionally sipping water or laughing quietly at the nonsense. And Stan, as always, couldn’t help watching, careful not to let anyone else catch it.

Eventually, Wendy yawned, checking the time. “Okay, I’m calling it. If I don’t go to sleep now, I’ll be useless tomorrow.”

“Like that’s any different,” Bebe teased.

“Shut up.”

One by one, cameras flicked off and goodnights echoed across the call until only a few were left. Kyle stretched, curls bouncing, and mumbled, “Guess I should crash again.”

Stan muted his mic for a second, exhaling slowly before unmuting. “Night, dude.”

Kyle gave a small smile. “Night, Stan.”

And with that, his square went dark.

Chapter Text

The alarm blared at 6:45, and Kyle smacked it off with a groan. He’d already overslept compared to yesterday’s ridiculously early start. His curls were sticking out in every direction, and no amount of water splashed on his face seemed to tame them. He ran a comb through a few stubborn strands, gave up, and pulled on a clean hoodie and jeans. He didn’t have time to obsess this morning, he just wanted to make it out the door before his mom started yelling.

Bag slung over his shoulder, he grabbed a granola bar from the counter and headed out. His old hand-me-down car coughed to life with a familiar rattle. The morning was crisp, sun just high enough to sting his eyes as he pulled into the school lot. He spotted the usual cluster of kids already lingering near the front steps, backpacks dumped on the ground, voices carrying across the lawn.

“Morning, guys,” Kyle said as he approached, tucking his keys into his pocket.

“About time,” Kenny grinned, hood up as usual. “We were betting you’d oversleep after last night.”

Kyle rolled his eyes but smiled. “Yeah, yeah. At least I’m here.”

Wendy waved from beside Bebe, who was already mid-conversation with Clyde about something pointless. Cartman gave Kyle a side-eye but didn’t say anything, maybe too tired to start an argument this early. And then there was Stan, leaning against the railing, looking…normal. Just Stan. He raised a hand in greeting.

“Hey,” Stan said simply.

“Hey,” Kyle replied, a little warmth creeping into his chest.

They all drifted inside together once the first bell rang. Kyle went straight for his locker, spinning the dial with practiced speed. His curls fell forward as he dug around for his history notebook.

“Damn thing’s jammed again,” he muttered when the top shelf stuck.

“Here,” Stan said from beside him. His locker was just a couple down. He reached over without thinking, jiggling the shelf until it slid loose.

Kyle blinked at him. “…Thanks.”

“No problem,” Stan said, casual as ever, though he glanced away quickly.

They grabbed their things and split for class, the hallway buzzing with other seniors already half-done with the whole back-to-school energy.

⸻

History was one of the few classes Kyle didn’t dread. He slid into his seat near the middle, Wendy dropping into the desk ahead of him. Stan wandered in a moment later, taking the desk diagonally across.

Their teacher, Mr. Andrews, clapped his hands together after attendance. “Alright, seniors, let’s dive in. First unit, we’re looking at world revolutions. And to make it easier, you’re going to work with partners for the first project.”

The room perked up at the word partners. Kyle’s head snapped around almost instantly, his eyes landing on Stan.

“You wanna?” he asked, already smiling.

Stan blinked, then gave a little half-smile back. “Yeah, sure.”

It was an easy exchange, nothing out of the ordinary. But for some reason, Kyle felt lighter. He scribbled the project notes down quickly, already thinking about how they’d split the work.

Across from him, Stan leaned back in his chair, trying to look unfazed, but the smile that tugged at his lips didn’t quite fade.

⸻

The history classroom buzzed with low chatter as pairs formed. Kyle had already pulled his notebook closer, flipping to a clean page. “Okay, so the project’s about major turning points in U.S. history, right? We should narrow it down, something like the civil rights movement or the great depression.”

Stan sat across from him, propped on one elbow, nodding along. He tried to keep his eyes on the paper, but every time Kyle leaned forward, curls slipping down toward his face, Stan’s gaze drifted. His lips moved quick while he explained ideas, pink and soft from how much he chewed on them earlier during class. Stan caught himself staring too long, blinking fast before looking down at the desk.

Kyle didn’t notice, too caught up in his thought process. “If we did civil rights, we could focus on the Montgomery bus boycott. There’s tons of primary sources for that, and it’s actually interesting, you know? Not just memorizing dates.” He glanced up at Stan, expectant.

Stan straightened, forcing a casual smile. “Yeah, yeah, that works. Definitely better than the Depression. Way less… depressing.”

Kyle let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Wow, you really thought that one through.”

Stan grinned, trying to play it cool even though his chest felt lighter at the sound of Kyle laughing at his joke.

Across the room, Wendy had partnered with Bebe. While Bebe scrolled through her phone, Wendy had her chin propped in her hand, scanning the class. Her eyes landed on Stan. He wasn’t taking notes, barely even pretending to look at their worksheet. He was just… watching Kyle talk. Not subtly, either.

Wendy’s brow lifted, a knowing expression tugging at her mouth. She didn’t say anything, though, just filed it away.

Kyle was still scribbling in his notebook, jotting down key terms. “So tomorrow we should probably hit the library, actually split the sources instead of just guessing.”

“Yeah,” Stan said quickly, snapping back into the conversation. “Library. For sure.”

Kyle looked at him, brows raised slightly. “You good?”

“Yeah. Totally.” Stan scratched the back of his neck, forcing his eyes to stay on the notebook this time. “Just thinking.”

Kyle shrugged, going back to his notes. “Alright, man. As long as you don’t slack off, I’m not carrying the whole project.”

“You won’t have to,” Stan replied, a little too quickly.

Kyle just smirked.

From across the room, Wendy leaned closer to Bebe and whispered something that made her friend glance over, then laugh quietly.

⸻

The next afternoon, Kyle led the way into the library, binder tucked under his arm. Stan followed behind, trying not to look like he was dragging his feet even though he was already dreading how much reading they’d have to do.

They dropped their stuff at one of the long tables near the windows. Kyle immediately spread out his notes, color-coded tabs sticking out from the pages. “Okay,” he said, pushing his curls back with one hand, “you grab sources about Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King Jr., and I’ll look at the legal side, the court cases and legislation. Then we’ll compare.”

“Got it,” Stan said, though his eyes were on the way Kyle chewed the end of his pen while thinking.

Wendy and Bebe slipped in a couple minutes later, books in hand for their own project. They sat at the next table over, close enough to overhear.

Stan tried to focus, flipping through a thick textbook. But every time Kyle leaned across the table to point something out, Stan’s eyes followed, his lips forming words, his hand brushing curls out of his face, his smile when he found a source that fit.

Kyle noticed Stan wasn’t writing much. “Uh, you’re supposed to be taking notes, remember?” He raised his eyebrows.

Stan cleared his throat and scribbled something on his paper without even looking. “Yeah. Totally. I am.”

From the next table, Wendy glanced over. She didn’t miss the way Stan’s pencil was hovering, not really moving, or how his eyes kept dragging back to Kyle like a magnet. She nudged Bebe under the table, whispering, “He’s not even hiding it.”

Bebe looked up from her phone, followed Wendy’s gaze, and smirked. “Wow. He’s so obvious.”

Kyle, oblivious, was leaning across the table again. “Look- see? This one talks about the bus boycotts’ economic impact. If you get the social stuff and I do the political, it’ll fit together.”

“Yeah,” Stan said, smiling faintly. “Sounds good.” He still wasn’t looking at the page.

Wendy leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, a little grin tugging at her lips. She said nothing, but when Stan happened to glance over, she raised her brows, like she knew. Stan’s face heated immediately, and he ducked his head down toward his notes.

Kyle blinked. “You okay?”

“Fine. Just… writing.”

Kyle gave him a weird look but shrugged, going back to his notes.

Wendy’s grin widened.

⸻

By the time Kyle finally closed his binder, the library had gone eerily quiet. The clock on the wall read 8:57, and the only other sound was the hum of the vending machine near the exit.

“Damn,” Kyle muttered, rubbing his eyes. “I didn’t realize it got this late.”

Stan checked his phone. “Yeah, it’s basically dark out. C’mon, I’ll drive you home.”

Kyle raised a brow. “What about your mom?”

“I’ll just text her. It’s fine.”

Kyle didn’t argue. He packed up his stuff, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and followed Stan out into the cool September night. The parking lot lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows across Stan’s car.

Once they were on the road, Kyle’s stomach betrayed him with a loud growl. His cheeks went pink immediately.

Stan glanced over, grinning. “Hungry?”

“I forgot to eat dinner before the library, okay? I was too busy prepping.”

Stan chuckled. “Figures. C’mon, I’ll buy you something.” He flicked his blinker on, turning down a side street.

“Stan, you don’t have to-“

“I want to.”

Kyle’s mouth shut, but when they pulled into the glowing golden arches of McDonald’s, he lit up, curls bouncing as he sat up straighter. “Oh my god. Yes. Fries. And maybe a McFlurry if the machine’s not broken.”

Stan laughed as he pulled into the drive-thru. “You sound like a kid on Christmas.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were parked in a quiet corner of the empty lot, radio playing softly. The windows fogged slightly from the warmth inside as they dug into fries and burgers.

“Worth it?” Stan asked, unwrapping his sandwich.

Kyle nodded around a mouthful of fries. “Best idea you’ve ever had.”

They ate until they were full, then let the music take over. Kyle tilted his seat back halfway, stretching, but then he shifted further, swinging sideways until his head ended up resting against Stan’s lap. His knees were bent, feet tucked up on his own seat.

“Comfy?” Stan asked, voice cracking a little as he froze.

Kyle shrugged, looking up at the roof with a yawn. “Yeah. The stars are crazy clear tonight.”

Stan forced himself to glance upward instead of down at the boy sprawled against him. The stars were clear, scattered like glitter across the black sky. But he could only half-focus, because Kyle’s curls were brushing his arm, and every breath he took seemed louder than the radio.

Time slipped. Songs blended into each other. Kyle hummed along once, low and lazy, and Stan felt it in his chest.

At some point, both of their eyes slipped closed.

When Stan’s phone buzzed violently in the cupholder, he jolted awake. Kyle stirred against him, groaning.

“What time is it?” Kyle asked, voice hoarse.

Stan fumbled for his phone, squinting at the screen. His heart dropped. “Shit. Dude, it’s midnight.”

Kyle shot upright so fast he hit his head on the roof. “Midnight?! We were supposed to be home hours ago!”

Stan rubbed the back of his neck, laughing nervously. “Guess we… passed out.”

Kyle’s eyes were wide. “My mom is gonna kill me.”

Stan started the car in a panic, tires crunching over the gravel of the empty lot. The McDonald’s sign flickered behind them as they sped off into the night, both of them half-laughing, half-freaking out.

Kyle practically bolted up the driveway as soon as Stan pulled up to his house. The headlights caught the pale green siding, the familiar front steps, and the faint glow from the kitchen window. His mom was still awake.

“Oh my god,” Kyle muttered under his breath, pressing his palms against his face. He turned back to Stan, who had the guiltiest grin plastered on his face. “She’s gonna kill me.”

Stan winced. “Good luck, dude.”

Kyle shook his head, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “Thanks for the ride… and the food. And for making me miss curfew by, like, three hours.”

“Hey,” Stan said, laughing under his breath, “you’re the one who passed out first.”

“Liar. You were snoring.”

Stan smirked, leaning back in his seat. “You loved it.”

Kyle rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his mouth. “See you tomorrow.”

He slipped out of the car and jogged up the steps. By the time he cracked the front door open, trying to be silent, the kitchen light clicked on. His mom was standing there with her arms crossed.

“Kyle Broflovski,” she said, voice sharp as a whip.

Kyle winced, stepping inside. “Hey, Mom. Um… library ran late?”

“Library.” She raised her eyebrows. “The one that closes at nine?”

Kyle opened his mouth, then shut it. He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “Okay, so after the library, we… got food. And then I guess we fell asleep in the car. But I’m fine. Nothing happened.”

His mom let out a long sigh, shaking her head. “You’re lucky I didn’t call the police.”

“I know,” Kyle said quickly. “I’m sorry. Really. It won’t happen again.”

Her stern expression softened just a little as she looked at his tired face and messy curls. She flicked off the kitchen light. “Go to bed, Kyle. You’ve got school in the morning.”

Relieved, Kyle trudged upstairs, collapsing onto his bed without even changing. His phone buzzed once, Stan: made it home, don’t die lol- and Kyle smiled faintly before his eyes slipped closed again.

⸻

Meanwhile, across town, Stan was less lucky.

He tried to sneak in quietly, shoes in hand, but the moment he set foot in the living room, the lamp clicked on. Sharon Marsh sat on the couch, arms folded, eyes sharp but tired.

“Stanley,” she said.

Stan froze mid-step. “…Hey, Mom.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Technically, like, twelve thirty?” he tried, offering a weak smile.

Her stare didn’t budge. “You said you were going to study at the library. That was five hours ago.”

“Okay, but listen,” Stan started, setting his shoes down carefully. “We did study. Like, a lot. And then I drove Kyle home, and he was hungry, so we got food. And then we… accidentally fell asleep in the car.”

Sharon blinked slowly, unimpressed. “You fell asleep in a car? In a parking lot?”

“…Yes?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling. “Stan, I worry enough without you disappearing until midnight. What if something happened? What if you got in an accident?”

Stan’s shoulders slumped. “I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

There was a pause. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator. Sharon studied him, the way his cheeks were still pink, the sheepish tilt of his mouth. Finally, she sighed, shaking her head with a smile she couldn’t quite hide.

“This is about Kyle, isn’t it?” she asked softly.

Stan’s head snapped up. “What? No. No way.”

The blush on his face betrayed him instantly. Sharon’s smile widened knowingly.

“Mom,” Stan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s not- I mean, we’re just friends.”

“Mhm,” she said, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Friends who fall asleep under the stars together until midnight.”

Stan wanted the ground to swallow him whole. “Can we not do this?”

Sharon chuckled, standing up and kissing the top of his head as she passed by. “Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

As she turned out the light, Stan collapsed onto the couch with his hands covering his face. His chest felt tight, and he couldn’t tell if it was humiliation or something else entirely.

When he finally dragged himself upstairs and collapsed into bed, his phone buzzed again.

Kyle: thanks again for everything tonight. night, stan.

Stan stared at the message for a long moment, cheeks heating again, before typing back: night, dude.

He set his phone down and lay awake for a while, replaying the whole evening in his head, the stars, Kyle’s laughter, the weight of him stretched across his lap.

And despite everything, he fell asleep smiling.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the school hallways were already buzzing when Kyle walked in. Posters for clubs and sports were plastered on the walls, bright marker and glitter catching the fluorescent lights. His curls were still a little frizzy from his rushed shower, and he clutched his coffee like his life depended on it.

Wendy spotted him first. “You look like you didn’t sleep at all.”

Kyle gave her a flat look. “Because I didn’t. Somebody kept me up too late studying.”

From behind him, Stan’s laugh was too quick, too casual. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to finish the outline.”

Kenny snorted, tugging his hoodie over his head. “What, did you guys pull an all-nighter or something?”

“Something like that,” Kyle muttered, sipping his coffee. He leaned against the lockers, finally starting to wake up, when a commotion started down the hallway.

A couple of juniors were taping up giant sheets of paper: FOOTBALL TRYOUTS- SIGN UP HERE! Bold letters, Sharpie all over the page.

Stan perked up immediately, exchanging a look with Kenny and Cartman. “Dude.”

“Dude,” Kenny echoed.

Cartman shoved his way through the small crowd forming around the sheets. “Finally! Senior year championship, here I come.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You didn’t even play last year, Cartman.”

Cartman whipped around, finger raised. “That was strategy. I was saving my knee. This year, I’m gonna dominate.”

“Sure you are,” Kyle muttered.

Stan was already walking toward the sign-up sheets, Kenny at his heels. “Come on, you guys. This is it. One last season.”

Clyde jogged over, grinning. “Hell yeah, man. I’m in.”

Craig followed, hands in his pockets, while Tweek trailed nervously. Tolkien strolled after them, shaking his head but grabbing a pen anyway.

Within seconds, there was a cluster of them around the signup sheet, Stan, Kenny, Cartman, Craig, Clyde, and Tolkien all scribbling their names.

Kyle watched from the lockers, sipping his coffee. “Great. Guess I won’t see any of you after school for the next three months.”

Wendy laughed beside him. “They’ll survive. You’ll still have me in history.”

Kyle smiled faintly but his eyes lingered on Stan, who was grinning ear-to-ear as he handed the pen off to Clyde. His hair fell into his face as he leaned forward, and when he straightened, he caught Kyle’s gaze for half a second too long before quickly looking away.

Wendy caught it. Again.

She folded her arms, smirking. “Interesting.”

Kyle blinked at her. “What?”

“Nothing.” Her smirk only grew.

Down the hall, Stan clapped Kenny on the shoulder, laughing about their “last big season.” His chest was buzzing, adrenaline pumping, not just from the thought of football, but from that quick flash of green eyes watching him from across the hallway.

⸻

The last bell rang, loud and final, echoing through the halls. Backpacks zipped, lockers slammed, and kids flooded toward the exits.

Kyle adjusted his own bag on his shoulder, glancing at Stan, Kenny, Cartman, Clyde, Craig, and Tolkien, who were already hyped about heading to the locker rooms.

“Guess this is it,” Clyde said, grinning wide. “Time to prove I still got it.”

“You never had it,” Kyle deadpanned, earning a laugh from Wendy.

Cartman scoffed, clutching his water bottle. “You losers are gonna eat dust when I run circles around you.”

“Eric,” Kyle said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “you can’t even run to the cafeteria without wheezing.”

“I conserve energy,” Cartman snapped, stomping toward the locker room.

The rest of the group burst out laughing. Kenny shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, nodding to the field doors. “Alright, let’s do this. Senior year, baby.”

Wendy tugged Bebe toward the parking lot, while the rest of the football hopefuls gathered their things. Kyle stood a little apart, lingering with Stan as everyone else peeled away.

Stan started to turn, shouldering his backpack. “See you later, dude-“

But before he could finish, Kyle leaned in and wrapped his arms around him in a quick hug.

Stan froze. His entire brain short-circuited for a second. Kyle was warm, smelling faintly of coffee and the shampoo he always used, curls brushing Stan’s chin because of their height difference.

“Good luck,” Kyle said casually, pulling back like it was no big deal. “Don’t break anything.”

“Uh-y-yeah,” Stan stammered, trying to sound normal. His face was already heating up, but he forced a grin. “Thanks. I’ll… see you after?”

“See you,” Kyle said, adjusting his backpack strap and heading toward the exit with Wendy.

Stan watched him go a little too long before Kenny shoved his shoulder. “Dude, are you coming or what?”

“Yeah. Coming,” Stan said quickly, turning on his heel toward the locker rooms, but his chest was still buzzing from that brief hug.

⸻

The locker room reeked of sweat and cheap deodorant. Stan tugged his old cleats out of his bag, lacing them up with practiced ease, while Kenny wrestled his hoodie off and tossed it on the bench.

“Senior year, man,” Kenny said, grinning. “One last shot.”

“Let’s make it count,” Stan replied, slamming his locker shut.

Meanwhile, Clyde was flexing in the mirror, grinning at himself. “Gonna impress all the girls in the stands this season.”

Craig rolled his eyes, tugging his helmet on. “You’ll impress the bench.”

“Shut up,” Clyde muttered, but he was still smiling.

Cartman, meanwhile, was sprawled across the bench like he owned the place. “You guys are lucky to have me this year. I’m the secret weapon. Pure muscle.”

“Pure McNugget,” Tolkien muttered, pulling his jersey over his head.

The whistle blew outside, and the boys jogged onto the field. The September air was crisp, the grass still damp from morning dew. A line of other seniors and juniors stretched along the sideline, waiting for the coach’s instructions.

Coach Daniels paced with a clipboard. “Alright, listen up! This isn’t peewee anymore. You wanna make varsity, you prove you can hustle. We’re running drills, sprints, and a scrimmage. Don’t waste my time.”

The first whistle shrieked. They were off.

Stan shot forward immediately, lungs burning but legs steady. He had the rhythm down, clean strides, powerful drive. He made it across the field in strong time, earning a nod from the coach.

Kenny, surprisingly light on his feet, zipped past a couple guys, finishing just behind Stan. He threw his arms up in victory. “Still got it!”

Cartman lumbered halfway, tripping into the grass with a loud wheeze. “The sun was in my eyes!” he yelled, clutching his side.

Craig jogged at a steady, no-nonsense pace, not fast, not slow, just consistent. Clyde was red-faced and panting halfway through, but managed to finish, collapsing in the end zone.

Tolkien, calm and collected, handled the drills like he’d been training all summer, crisp cuts and clean footwork.

The scrimmage came next. Stan lined up at quarterback, Kenny at receiver. Stan gripped the ball, heartbeat steady.

“Ready- set- hike!”

The ball snapped, and the play unfolded. Stan rolled left, scanning the field. Kenny broke free down the sideline, hand shooting up. Stan let the ball fly, spiraling perfectly into Kenny’s arms. Kenny tucked it, bolting across the goal line.

“Touchdown!” he shouted, spiking the ball.

The guys on the sideline cheered. Even Craig cracked a grin.

Meanwhile, Cartman waddled around the line of scrimmage, arms flailing. “Nobody blocked for me! This is sabotage!”

“Maybe if you moved faster than a snail,” Tolkien called.

The whistle blew again. “Good work, Marsh. Solid arm. McCormick, nice speed. Williams, strong plays. Keep it up.”

Stan wiped sweat from his forehead, chest heaving, but he couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips. The tryouts were exhausting, but he felt alive, like senior year was really beginning.

⸻

The sun had already dipped low, leaving the parking lot bathed in dusky orange light. The boys trudged out of the school in a pack, helmets dangling from their hands, jerseys clinging with sweat. Stan wiped his forehead with the bottom of his shirt, squinting toward the lot.

There, leaning against Kyle’s car, were Kyle, Wendy, and Bebe. A couple paper bags sat at their feet, half-empty.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Bebe called, raising a brow. “Took you guys long enough.”

“Tryouts,” Kenny said, collapsing dramatically on the curb. “I think I lost a lung.”

“Good,” Kyle deadpanned. “That means you actually tried.”

Stan dropped his bag by Kyle’s feet, grinning. “We crushed it, though.”

“Some of us crushed it,” Tolkien muttered, side-eyeing Cartman.

“Hey!” Cartman barked, pointing his helmet at him. “You all saw the ref screw me over!”

“There wasn’t even a ref,” Craig said flatly.

Bebe knelt and opened one of the bags, pulling out some granola bars and leftover chips. “We had extras from helping Garrison with his classroom. You animals look like you need it more than us.”

Kenny reached for the chips immediately. “Marry me, Bebe.”

“In your dreams,” she said, tossing a granola bar at his head.

They sprawled across the parking lot, some sitting on the curb, others leaning against cars. Stan cracked open a water bottle, Kyle sipping the last of his iced coffee. The air buzzed with the kind of tired energy only after-school could bring.

“So how was it?” Wendy asked, crossing her arms.

Stan shrugged. “Felt good. Think we all made it.”

“Not all,” Craig muttered, jerking his thumb at Cartman, who was still rambling about “offensive strategies.”

Kyle chuckled, shaking his head. His curls had slipped into his eyes again, and when he pushed them back, Stan found himself staring a little too long. He quickly busied himself with his water.

The chatter kept going, Bebe teasing Clyde, Wendy rolling her eyes at Craig’s monotone sarcasm, Kenny trying to trade a granola bar for more chips. It felt… easy. Like the last first week of school wasn’t so bad after all.

When it was finally time to head out, they split naturally into their usual carpools. Kyle jingled his keys and nodded toward his car. “Shotgun’s up for grabs.”

“Dibs!” Eric yelled, lunging for the passenger side.

“Dream on,” Kyle said, cutting him off and sliding into the driver’s seat himself.

Stan smirked as he opened the back door, climbing in beside Kenny. Eric sulked but still buckled in, grumbling about unfairness.

Across the lot, Bebe tossed her keys to Wendy before sliding into the passenger side. Craig’s car revved up a few spots away, Tweek already fidgeting with the aux cord while Clyde and Tolkien argued about who got the window seat.

Kyle started the engine, the headlights washing over the cracked asphalt. “So,” he said, glancing at Stan in the rearview with the faintest grin, “how was your big football moment?”

Stan leaned back, still buzzing from earlier. “Pretty good. But the snacks after? Even better.”

Kyle laughed, the sound filling the car as they pulled out of the lot together, the three cars scattering into the night.

⸻

The hum of the engine filled the silence at first, but Eric couldn’t stand silence.

“So, Kyle, next year when I’m team captain, I’ll make sure you get season tickets. You’re welcome.”

“You?” Kenny snorted from beside Stan. “You were winded after warm-ups.”

“I was strategizing,” Eric snapped. “The greatest leaders conserve their energy.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, merging onto the main road. “Yeah, sure. Stan was running circles around you.”

Stan stiffened slightly in the backseat. Kyle noticed, of course he did, and shot him a quick grin in the rearview. Stan looked away fast, cheeks heating.

Kenny, oblivious, leaned forward between the seats. “So, Kyle, you really stayed out in the parking lot just to wait for us? That’s kinda sweet.”

Kyle shrugged, trying to play it off. “Bebe had snacks. We didn’t plan on staying.”

“Uh-huh,” Kenny said, grinning.

Stan buried his face in his hoodie, hoping no one could see his expression.

⸻

Wendy drove, hands tight on the wheel, while Bebe scrolled through her phone.

“They looked good out there,” Bebe said casually, glancing out the window. “Especially Stan.”

Wendy flicked her eyes at her, then back to the road. “…You noticed that too?”

“Obviously.” Bebe smirked. “But I wasn’t the only one staring at him.”

“Mm.” Wendy hummed, lips twitching. “Kyle was being very obvious.”

“Finally! I thought I was the only one catching that.”

Wendy laughed under her breath. “Boys are hopeless. One’s staring, the other one’s pretending he’s not flustered. Classic.”

“Should we say something?” Bebe asked, half-teasing.

“Not yet. Let’s see how long it takes them to figure it out.”

They shared a knowing look before Wendy turned up the radio.

⸻

Craig was behind the wheel, calm as ever. Clyde was in the passenger seat, already cranking the air conditioning, while Tweek was fidgeting with the aux cord in the back. Tolkien sat beside him, trying not to get elbowed.

“Football tryouts weren’t that bad,” Clyde said, leaning back. “I think we killed it.”

“You dropped the ball twice,” Tolkien muttered.

“Once,” Clyde protested. “Okay… twice. But it was slippery!”

“Excuses,” Craig deadpanned.

Tweek finally found a song, blasting it too loud. Craig didn’t even flinch, just reached over to turn it down. “Not that one.”

“Gah! Why do you always get to pick?” Tweek snapped, glaring.

“Because I’m driving, babe.” Craig said simply.

The car fell into a rhythm of small bickering, Clyde dramatizing his “MVP performance,” Tolkien fact-checking every word, and Craig cutting in with dry one-liners that shut everyone up.

⸻

The closer they got to their neighborhood, the quieter it became. Eric had dozed off against the window, snoring softly. Kenny hummed to himself, scrolling on his phone.

Stan kept sneaking glances at the back of Kyle’s head, the curls brushing his ears, the way his hand tapped lightly on the wheel in time with the music.

Kyle glanced in the mirror again. Their eyes almost met, but Stan looked away, pretending to mess with his shoelaces.

Kyle’s lips curled into the faintest smirk. He didn’t say anything, though.

First stop was Eric’s house. Kyle nudged him awake with the back of his hand.

“Ugh, finally,” Eric groaned, dragging himself out of the car. “Don’t forget to vote for me as captain.”

Nobody answered. The car door slammed shut.

Next was Kenny’s place. He hopped out, granola bar still in his hoodie pocket. “Later, losers.” He gave them a lazy salute before jogging toward his porch.

That left Stan.

Kyle pulled up in front of his house, putting the car in park. For a second, neither of them moved.

“Good luck with the results tomorrow,” Kyle said, eyes flicking toward him.

“Thanks.” Stan shifted awkwardly, then unbuckled. “And… thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime.” Kyle’s voice was softer this time.

Stan opened the door, but before stepping out, he glanced back at Kyle, just a quick look. Their eyes caught again, lingering longer this time.

Stan’s chest felt tight, but he forced himself to move. He gave a little wave and jogged up his front steps, heart hammering.

Kyle watched until he disappeared inside, then finally pulled away, a tiny smile tugging at his lips.

⸻

By the time the bell for lunch rang, half the senior class had already crowded into the hallway outside the gym. The new football roster was taped to the double doors, bold black letters announcing the names everyone was craning their necks to read.

Stan pushed through the crowd with Kenny and Tolkien, heart pounding hard enough that he thought other people might hear it. Clyde and Craig were already there, arguing loudly about who had run the fastest during sprints yesterday.

Stan swallowed, eyes flicking over the list. His breath caught.

Quarterback & Captain: Stan Marsh.

For a moment, the noise around him faded into a muffled blur. His vision tunneled onto those words, and for a fleeting second, he let himself feel it, the pride, the validation, the realization that all the years of early mornings, drills in the snow, and pushing through injuries had meant something.

“Holy shit, dude!” Kenny’s voice snapped him back. He smacked Stan on the back hard enough to make him stumble forward. “Captain Marsh! That’s got a nice ring to it.”

Tolkien grinned and nodded. “You earned it, man.”

Eric shoved through, panting like he’d run a marathon. He squinted at the paper, then immediately exploded. “What the fuck? This is total bullshit. Me, not captain? You people just don’t appreciate raw talent!”

“You fell down three times during warm-ups,” Craig said flatly.

Eric turned bright red. “That was part of my plan. To fake out the coach!”

Nobody was listening. The guys were clapping Stan on the back, Kenny was already chanting “Cap-tain Marsh, Cap-tain Marsh,” and Tolkien was laughing.

Then Kyle finally made it through the crowd, curls bouncing, cheeks pink from the brisk air outside. His eyes darted across the sheet, scanning names until they landed on Stan’s.

His whole face lit up.

“Stan!” Kyle broke into a grin so wide it made Stan’s chest ache. He reached forward, grabbing Stan’s arm without even thinking about it. “That’s amazing. Congrats, dude! Captain and quarterback? You’re gonna kill it this year.”

Stan felt heat crawl up his neck. The way Kyle’s eyes sparkled, it was almost too much. For half a second, he let himself bask in it, smiling back just as wide.

But then the thought struck, sharp and unwelcome: He’s just being a good friend. That’s all this is.

The smile slid from his face. He gently pulled his arm from Kyle’s grip, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “Yeah, thanks. It’s… cool, I guess.”

Kyle blinked, thrown. “…‘Cool, I guess’? Stan, this is huge. You should be-“

“Yeah, well.” Stan scratched the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “Anyway, we should get to class.”

Before Kyle could say anything else, Stan was already moving down the hall with Kenny and Tolkien. Kyle stood there a moment longer, his excitement draining, replaced with a puzzled knot in his stomach.

⸻

It wasn’t obvious at first.

Stan still sat next to Kyle at lunch, still walked with him in the mornings when their lockers lined up. But when Kyle casually suggested hanging out after school- “Want to come over and work on history?” or “Let’s play some 2K tonight”- Stan suddenly had excuses.

“I’ve got practice.”
“Coach wants me going over plays.”
“I’m wiped, man. Rain check?”

Kyle laughed them off the first couple of times. But by Thursday, when Stan practically bolted out of the cafeteria with a mumbled “See you later,” Kyle couldn’t ignore the tightening in his chest.

Wendy caught it too. One afternoon, she spotted Stan leaving early and raised an eyebrow.

“Avoiding someone?” she asked, voice casual but eyes sharp.

Stan stiffened. “No. Just… busy.”

“Mm-hm.” Wendy didn’t press further, but the way she looked at him made him squirm.

Even Craig made a dry comment in the locker room after practice: “You’re usually glued to Kyle. What’s up with that?”

Stan snapped at him too quickly. “Nothing. Shut up.”

⸻

Kyle noticed every change.

The slower texts. The half-hearted smiles. The way Stan’s eyes slid away quicker than before.

By Friday, he was restless, sitting in his desk while Bebe rattled off some story about a guy in her math class. Kyle twirled his pencil absentmindedly, not even pretending to take notes.

“Stan’s been weird lately, huh?” Bebe said offhandedly, clicking her gum.

Kyle’s head snapped up. “You noticed too?”

“Everyone has. He’s, like, there but not there, you know? Classic boy move.”

Kyle frowned, staring down at the lines of his empty notebook. He thought about Stan’s grin when he first saw his name on the list, how it had dimmed so fast when Kyle congratulated him. The way Stan kept dodging him since.

Did I do something? Did I say something wrong?

The thought gnawed at him until he slammed his notebook shut, startling Bebe.

She gave him a look. “Jeez, someone’s tense.”

Kyle leaned back in his chair, curls falling over his forehead. His chest felt tight with something he couldn’t name.

All he knew was that Stan was pulling away. And Kyle had no idea why.

⸻

The final bell rang, and instead of heading home, Kyle found himself in Bebe’s backseat. Wendy was driving, focused but smiling faintly, while Bebe sang off-key with the radio, hair whipping around from the open window.

They ended up at Wendy’s place, quiet, tidy, the faint smell of her mom’s candles lingering in the air. They dropped their bags by the couch, collapsed into the cushions, and without much debate, Bebe was already scrolling through her phone.

“McDonald’s, obviously,” she said, flicking her long nails against the screen. “Nuggets for me. Kyle?”

“Uh, quarter pounder meal,” Kyle said, pulling his curls into a loose scrunch while leaning against the couch arm.

Wendy added, “I’ll split fries with someone.”

“Fine, mine,” Bebe grinned. “Teamwork.”

By the time the food arrived, the TV was already glowing with the first movie they’d picked, something light, half rom-com, half background noise. The girls dug into nuggets while Kyle unwrapped his burger, steam fogging his glasses for a second.

For a while, it was easy. They laughed at the cheesy one-liners, tossed fries across the couch, and shouted over whether the male lead was “cute or just tolerable.”

But as the second movie started, Wendy turned the volume down a notch, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced at Kyle.

“So…” she started, casual but pointed. “Are you gonna tell us what’s going on with you and Stan?”

Kyle blinked, mid-sip of his soda. “What? Nothing’s-“

“Don’t even try,” Bebe cut in, leaning forward, hair falling over her shoulder. “He’s been acting weird. And you’ve been moping all week. Spill.”

Kyle sighed, setting his cup on the coffee table. “It’s not… I mean- he’s just been distant. Like, one second he was happy about captain, and the next he’s brushing me off. I don’t know if I did something or…” His voice trailed off, curls falling in his face as he stared at his lap.

Bebe tilted her head, her expression softening. “And how do you feel about him? Be honest.”

Kyle hesitated, shoulders tensing. “…I think I like him. More than just friends. But if he’s gonna act like this? I don’t know if I want to keep feeling that way.”

The words came out sharper than he meant, but the ache behind them was real. He shoved his hands into the sleeves of his hoodie, tugging at the cuffs.

Wendy leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Kyle… Stan’s sensitive. You know that. He shuts down when he doesn’t know how to handle something. So if he’s pulling away, it might not be about you. It might be about him.”

Kyle looked up, meeting her steady gaze. “So what am I supposed to do? Just wait around while he ignores me?”

Bebe shook her head. “No. If he wants to play distant, then match his energy. Don’t chase after him if he’s backing off. That’s just setting yourself up to get hurt.”

“But-“

“Listen,” Bebe interrupted, her voice firmer than usual. “Guys like Stan? They notice when you pull away. It forces them to figure out what they really want. If he cares, he’ll come back around. If he doesn’t… then at least you didn’t waste your time.”

Kyle frowned, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

Wendy’s voice softened, cutting in. “She’s right, but… be careful. Stan isn’t Cartman or Clyde. He’s not gonna brush things off if you act cold. He might take it harder than you mean it. So… if you do this, make sure you know what line you’re drawing.”

The three of them sat in the low glow of the TV for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling. Kyle finally exhaled, leaning back against the couch cushions.

“…So what you’re saying is, I should stop trying so hard?” he muttered.

Bebe smirked, snagging another fry. “Exactly.”

“And,” Wendy added, more gently, “give him space, but don’t shut the door completely. He might just need time to figure out what he’s feeling.”

Kyle nodded slowly, though the knot in his chest didn’t ease.

The serious talk faded into the background as the night went on. They switched to a cheesy horror movie, screaming dramatically when the first jump scare hit. Bebe nearly knocked over her soda, Kyle threw a fry at her in retaliation, and Wendy couldn’t stop laughing.

By the time the credits rolled, they were sprawled out in blankets, wrappers piled on the table, and the earlier heaviness had eased, just a little.

But as Kyle pulled his hoodie tighter around him, his mind still drifted back to Stan. To his smile when Kyle congratulated him. To the way it vanished a second later.

He wasn’t sure what game Stan was playing.
All he knew was that he didn’t want to lose him.

⸻

The ride home with Kenny, Eric, Clyde, and Tolkien was loud in all the ways Stan didn’t feel like being. Kenny kept retelling plays from practice with exaggerated hand motions, Eric argued with every word, and Clyde was already acting like he’d made varsity. Stan sat in the backseat, staring out the window, hoodie hood half over his head.

By the time they piled into Tolkien’s house, shoes kicked off at the door, the noise hadn’t let up. Tolkien tossed his keys into a bowl and waved them toward the living room.

“My dad ordered pizza already,” he said, flopping onto the couch.

Kenny stole the recliner, Eric sprawled across half the couch like he owned it, and Clyde landed on the carpet, controller in hand, booting up the Xbox. Stan dropped onto the far end of the couch, slumping low, hoping the noise would drown out how heavy his chest felt.

It didn’t.

“Dude,” Clyde said suddenly, glancing over his shoulder, “why do you look like your dog just died?”

“Yeah, seriously,” Kenny added, leaning sideways in the recliner. “You’ve been moping all week.”

“I’m not moping,” Stan muttered.

“Yes, you are,” Eric cut in, voice smug. “You’re like a little emo raincloud. Gloomy Stan.” He made a fake thunder sound.

Stan groaned. “Drop it.”

But none of them did. Tolkien paused the game, turning to face him. “No, seriously. What’s going on? You should be stoked. You made captain.”

The room went quiet for a moment, four sets of eyes locked on him. Stan pulled his hood tighter, wishing he could sink into the couch. “…It’s nothing.”

Kenny raised an eyebrow. “It’s Kyle, isn’t it?”

Stan froze. “…What?”

“Called it,” Kenny muttered, leaning back.

Clyde dropped the controller, eyes wide. “Wait-you like Kyle?”

Eric sat up straighter, a grin spreading across his face. “Oh my God. This is rich. Stan Marsh, quarterback, captain, hopelessly in love with Kyle Broflovski. Somebody call TMZ.”

“Shut up, Cartman,” Stan snapped, face burning.

Tolkien’s voice cut through before it could escalate. “So… you like him. And what? You don’t know what to do about it?”

Stan groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Yeah, okay, fine. I’ve been… feeling some kind of way about him. For a while. And I don’t know what the hell to do. He’s my best friend. What if I screw it up?”

Kenny shrugged like it was obvious. “I mean, it’s not exactly shocking. You stare at him all the time. Like, all the time. Honestly, I thought you guys were already a thing and just being weird about it.”

“I do not stare at him,” Stan protested, though his stomach dropped at how confident Kenny sounded.

“Yeah, you do,” Clyde piped up, half grinning. “You’ve been way more serious around him lately, too. Like, everyone else gets chill Stan, but Kyle shows up and suddenly you’re sitting straighter and pretending you know what you’re doing.”

“Because he’s… Kyle,” Stan muttered, but the excuse sounded weak even to his own ears.

Eric chuckled, shaking his head. “This is hilarious. You, mister football hero, pining like a little bitch over Kyle. What are you even doing, man?”

Stan bristled. “I don’t know, okay? I thought… maybe if I just backed off, these feelings would go away. But it’s not working.”

That shut them up for a beat. Even Eric stopped smirking, his expression softening just slightly.

“You know,” Eric said, voice quieter than usual, “if you keep pushing him away, eventually he might not wanna come back.”

Stan looked at him, startled. Eric rolled his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, dude. I’m serious. Kyle’s not the type to chase someone who doesn’t wanna be around him. You keep acting cold, he’ll believe you don’t care. And then what? You’ll be quarterback and miserable.”

The words landed heavier than Stan expected. His chest tightened. “But… what if he doesn’t like me back?”

“Then at least you know,” Kenny said simply. “Better than losing him without even trying.”

Clyde nodded. “Yeah, dude. You’re overthinking it. Kyle likes you. Maybe more than you think.”

Stan stared down at his hands, the weight of their words pressing in. For the first time all week, he let himself picture it, not just the fear of losing Kyle, but the possibility of something more. It made his heart race. It scared the hell out of him.

“…I don’t know if I’m ready to risk it,” he admitted quietly.

Tolkien leaned forward, his voice steady. “Then don’t risk it yet. But stop pushing him away. You’re hurting him more than you realize.”

The room settled after that. Someone unpaused the game, the noise picked back up, but Stan barely registered it. He sat back, staring at the ceiling, the echo of Eric’s words circling in his head.

If you keep pushing him away, eventually he might not wanna come back.

Chapter Text

Stan woke up the next morning with a pit in his stomach. He thought maybe after talking it out with the guys at Tolkien’s place, he’d feel lighter, like saying it out loud would make it make sense. Instead, it only felt heavier. He had admitted it: he was feeling some kind of way about Kyle, more than a friend should, more than he wanted to admit even to himself.

But what was he supposed to do about it?

He was terrified Kyle didn’t feel the same. And if he pushed too hard, if he made it weird, he could ruin years of friendship. That was the last thing he wanted. So pulling away had seemed smart, until last night when Eric of all people told him he was being stupid. And now, all Stan could hear in his head was that warning: If you keep pushing Kyle away, he might not wanna come back.

The thought made his chest ache.

By the time Stan walked into school, he’d made up his mind. He’d at least try to be warmer again. Maybe casual smiles, maybe walking with Kyle like normal. Nothing too obvious, but enough to make sure Kyle knew he cared.

He spotted him by his locker. Kyle was standing with Wendy and Bebe, curls slightly frizzy, backpack slung over one shoulder. The sight alone was enough to make Stan’s heart skip. He walked up, trying to play it cool.

“Hey, dude,” Stan said, giving him a small smile, waiting for Kyle’s usual cheerful energy back.

But Kyle only gave him a quick glance. “Hey.” Short. Flat. He looked back down, adjusting something in his locker like Stan wasn’t even standing there.

It threw Stan off, but he forced a chuckle. “You ready for history today? I looked at the notes-looks like we’re diving into the project again.”

Kyle nodded, eyes still on his books. “Yeah. Should be fine.” No smile. No excitement like before. Just…neutral.

Stan felt his chest tighten. It wasn’t anger in Kyle’s tone, it was distance. A wall.

Through first period, Stan tried to sit close, make little comments, throw in a quiet joke here and there. Kyle responded, but only when he had to, and always clipped.

By lunch, Stan couldn’t ignore it anymore. He sat at their usual table, next to Kyle like always, but Kyle had pulled his tray a little closer to Wendy and Bebe, barely making eye contact with him. Kenny and Eric were laughing across from them about something stupid, but Stan couldn’t even focus. All he could think about was how Kyle’s shoulder wasn’t brushing his like it usually did, how Kyle was speaking to everyone else normally but giving him one-word answers.

It was like looking in a mirror of what he had been doing to Kyle just days ago.

And it hurt.

It hurt in a way he didn’t expect. Every short response made him feel smaller, like Kyle was slipping away from him piece by piece. Like maybe Eric had been right, maybe he was screwing this up beyond fixing.

By the time the final bell rang, Stan was quiet, weighed down with the realization: Kyle wasn’t just pulling back. He was showing Stan what it felt like. And Stan hated it.

Walking out of the building, watching Kyle laugh with Bebe about something as he walked ahead, Stan felt that ache in his chest deepen.

He wanted to grab his shoulder, stop him, say I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. But the words stuck in his throat, fear holding him hostage again.

So instead, he just shoved his hands in his pockets, following behind with Kenny and Eric, and wondered if Kyle would ever let him back in.

⸻

A few days had passed since things got weird between Stan and Kyle, and nothing had changed. The short answers, the careful distance, Kyle kept it up, even though inside it was harder than he thought it would be. He told himself it was fair. Stan had started it. If Stan wanted to treat him like some background extra in his life, then fine, Kyle would return the favor. Still, every time Stan’s voice cracked a little when he tried to talk to him, or when Stan sat a little too far at lunch, Kyle’s chest pinched.

That’s why when Bebe announced she was hosting her annual Halloween party, Kyle agreed to help her and Wendy with prep. He figured it was better than moping.

The three of them ended up at Spirit Halloween on a chilly Friday afternoon, the store blasting corny haunted-house sound effects while every aisle was stuffed with decorations and costumes.

“Okay, we need decorations and costumes, so split up!” Bebe chirped, already grabbing a sparkly witch hat and holding it to her blonde curls in the mirror.

“Don’t get distracted, Bebe,” Wendy teased, before immediately wandering into the “dark fairy” section.

Kyle shook his head, amused, and wandered deeper into the costume racks.

He stopped when something bright caught his eye, a Chucky display. He tilted his head, scanning the set-up: rainbow-striped shirts, fake bloody knives, blue overalls. One in particular made him pause.

It wasn’t the generic, baggy kind of costume. This one was styled. The rainbow shirt was cropped, the sleeves fitted tight to the arm but loose around the chest. The denim overalls cut in at the waist, hugging just enough without being uncomfortable. Red knee-high socks, artfully ripped, came with it. The fake knife even looked more playful than scary- plastic but painted realistically enough.

Kyle blinked, then slowly reached out and lifted it off the rack.

His first thought was, This is… actually not bad.

Then his second hit him harder: Chucky’s a redhead.

Kyle’s hand immediately went to his curls. He stared at the costume again. It matched him. A little too well.

Before he could overthink it, he rushed off toward where he last saw Wendy and Bebe. He found them near a wall of witch props, both holding things up to their bodies like they were already mid-debate on who would outdo who.

“Look what I found!” Kyle said, holding the costume up to his chest.

Both girls turned, and their reactions were instant.

“Oh. My. God,” Bebe gasped, her eyes widening like she just struck gold. She dropped the witch hat and pressed her hands together. “Kyle, that’s literally perfect.”

Wendy nodded, smirking but clearly approving. “Yeah, that’s adorable. It’s like… scary, but in a cute way.”

Bebe reached out and tugged the fabric, checking the size. “And with your hair? It’s destiny.”

Kyle’s cheeks warmed, but he grinned anyway, relief flooding him. “You think so? I thought it was kind of dumb, but…”

“It’s not dumb. It’s hot,” Bebe said without hesitation.

Kyle sputtered. “Hot?”

“Adorable and hot,” Wendy corrected smoothly, already flipping through her own hanger. “I think I’m going with vampire. Black dress, red cape, maybe some fake blood.”

Bebe squealed, spinning around to grab something sequined. “And I’m going as an angel. White dress, halo, feathers. Total contrast to Wendy. Light and dark, it’ll be iconic.”

Kyle laughed, feeling himself relax more. “So we’re really going full out, huh?”

“Obviously,” Bebe said, nudging him. “And you’re sticking with Chucky. No backing out.”

Kyle looked down at the costume again, a smile tugging at his lips. Maybe it was a little bold, but something about it felt fun, like leaning into the part of himself that didn’t always care what people thought. Besides, his curls already sealed the deal.

“Fine,” he said, lifting his chin playfully. “I’ll do it.”

Bebe and Wendy squealed at the same time, and before he knew it, they were dragging him toward the checkout with arms full of decorations, pumpkins, cobwebs, fake skeletons, and of course, their costumes.

For the first time all week, Kyle actually felt excited.

⸻

By the time they hauled their Spirit Halloween bags into Bebe’s car, the clock was already working against them. The party was only a few hours away, and Bebe suddenly remembered she’d forgotten snacks.

“Oh crap, we didn’t get food!” she groaned as she slid into the driver’s seat.

Kyle raised a brow. “You’re throwing a party, Bebe. Food is literally, like… the number one rule.”

“Excuse me, costumes are rule number one,” Bebe fired back, cranking the engine. “Snacks are… rule one and a half.”

Wendy pinched the bridge of her nose, laughing. “We better hurry before people start showing up to an empty table.”

That’s how they ended up sprinting through the sliding doors of the nearest grocery store, their footsteps echoing against the sterile tile floor.

“Let’s split up,” Kyle suggested, but that idea lasted all of three seconds because Bebe was already pushing a cart down the snack aisle with Wendy riding in it like a ten-year-old.

“Go faster!” Wendy laughed, holding onto the cart’s sides as Kyle jogged to keep up.

“Do you want us to get kicked out before we even buy anything?” Kyle grumbled, but the grin tugging at his lips gave him away.

They grabbed whatever chips caught their eye, Doritos, Hot Cheetos, pretzels, three different kinds of popcorn—tossing bags into the cart with no real thought other than college kids eat this, right?

Then they hit the soda aisle.

“Pepsi.” Kyle said immediately, reaching for a twelve-pack.

“Coke.” Wendy shot back, snagging her own.

“Pepsi is way better,” Kyle insisted.

“You’re insane,” Wendy said flatly. “Literally insane.”

“Coke tastes like battery acid.”

“Pepsi tastes like watered down regret.”

Bebe groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose dramatically. “Oh my god, just get both.”

They both glared at each other but tossed their boxes into the cart anyway.

Next came the questionable part of their trip. The three of them stood in front of the alcohol section, lingering like they were considering a heist.

“You think if we look confident, they’ll just… not card us?” Bebe whispered.

Kyle crossed his arms. “That’s not how it works.”

Wendy tilted her head. “But… what if it does?”

They argued in hushed tones before deciding on the dumbest plan possible: load up the conveyor belt with snacks first, then slide a six-pack of beer in at the very end like it might magically go unnoticed.

At the register, the cashier gave them a deadpan stare as Kyle tried to look casual, flipping a bag of chips in his hand.

“Uh…” Bebe leaned over the counter, lowering her voice. “So… like… if we slipped you twenty, maybe you didn’t see that?” She nodded toward the beer.

The cashier raised an unimpressed brow.

Kyle muttered, “We’re actually bribing a grocery store cashier right now. This is ridiculous.”

But to their surprise, the cashier sighed, glanced around, and mumbled, “Make it forty.”

They all stared at him for a beat.

Bebe whipped a crumpled forty out of her purse and slid it across the counter like they were in a spy movie.

The cashier bagged the beer without another word.

By the time they burst out of the store, Wendy still riding in the cart and Kyle balancing three chip bags in his arms, they were wheezing with laughter.

“That was the dumbest thing we’ve ever done,” Kyle said, shaking his head.

“And yet… the most successful,” Bebe replied smugly.

They tossed everything into the trunk, all three of them still laughing as they climbed back into the car. The sun was already dipping lower, meaning they had to rush home, change, and get back to Bebe’s before the party officially started.

“Okay,” Wendy said, clicking her seatbelt.

Kyle smirked, already thinking about the Chucky costume folded in the bag by his feet. “Guess we better hurry.”

⸻

The drive back to Bebe’s place was a blur of snack bags rustling, loud music, and Kyle silently worrying about whether he’d actually have time to get his curls just right. By the time they pulled into her driveway, it was already cutting close, an hour before people were supposed to start arriving.

“Okay,” Bebe announced, hauling the grocery bags inside. “Game plan: fast showers, fast makeup, fast everything.”

“Fast for you maybe,” Wendy said dryly, setting the sodas on the counter. “Some of us actually need time.”

Kyle was already halfway to the bathroom with his bag. “I’m first!” he called.

“Unfair!” Bebe shouted after him, but he didn’t slow down.

The house turned into a whirlwind of slamming doors, running water, and blow dryers. Kyle emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, steam billowing around him as he padded into Bebe’s room in socks, a towel wrapped around his shoulders.

He sat in front of the mirror, fingers moving quickly as he redid his curls, spritzing them with water and scrunching mousse through. He tied them up into two neat ponytails, high but not too high, so they bounced perfectly at the sides of his head. He tugged two strands free in the front, framing his face with soft spirals that practically glowed in the lamp light.

When Bebe poked her head in, she whistled. “Ohhh, okay Chucky. You’re killing it already.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, but he smiled. “Not even in costume yet.”

Bebe padded in, fully dressed in her angel costume, white dress, halo, and soft feathery wings already strapped on. She sat cross-legged on the bed and opened her makeup bag. “Hold still. I’m giving you a scar.”

Kyle tilted his chin obediently, watching her carefully draw stitches across his cheek with black and red liner, then smudge a little fake blood over it for effect. When she pulled back, she grinned. “Perfectly creepy.”

Kyle leaned closer to the mirror. “Not bad,” he admitted.

Meanwhile, Wendy was in the bathroom finishing up her vampire makeup, dark smoky eyes, deep red lipstick, a slash of fake blood at the corner of her mouth. She came out in a sleek black dress with a red-lined cape, looking like she’d walked straight off a movie set.

“You guys better hurry,” she warned, sliding her rings on. “People are already snapping me for the address.”

Kyle finally tugged his Chucky costume on, adjusting the striped crop top and overalls. The fit was snug but not uncomfortable, the socks ripping just enough to look intentional. He slipped the fake knife into the pocket and stood in front of the mirror. The two ponytails, the scar, the outfit- yeah. He definitely pulled it off.

“Okay,” Bebe clapped her hands, already pulling out her phone. “Photo time. If we’re gonna get messy later, I need evidence of how iconic we looked before it all goes downhill.”

Kyle groaned but didn’t argue when she made them line up.

Bebe started with solo shots, insisting everyone strike a few different poses. Wendy’s came out sultry and cool, her cape spread wide in one shot like bat wings. Bebe’s were ethereal and almost angelic, all soft smiles and glowing white.

Then it was Kyle’s turn.

He tried to play it off casual, but Bebe kept adjusting him, tilt your head, mess with the knife, smile but not too much. The photos ended up a mix: some where he looked accidentally adorable, his curls bouncing with his grin, and others where the scar and his serious stare made him look… well, hot. Even Kyle had to admit it when Bebe shoved the camera in his face to show him.

“These don’t even look real,” Wendy said, leaning over to peek. “You look like someone who belongs on, like… a horror movie poster.”

Kyle’s cheeks flushed, but he secretly kind of loved it.

Finally, they did group shots, Bebe in the middle with her wings out, Wendy leaning on Kyle’s shoulder with a fangy grin, Kyle holding the knife and trying to look tough but ending up laughing halfway through.

They’d barely finished when the first knock rattled the door. Then another. Voices echoed outside, the bass of a car stereo thumping down the street.

Bebe tucked her phone away with a grin that was half-excitement, half-chaos. “Showtime.”

Kyle adjusted his ponytails one last time, heart thrumming with anticipation. Tonight was going to be unforgettable.

⸻

The final bell rang, and instead of heading straight home, Stan, Kenny, Eric, Clyde, Tolkien, and Craig piled into Clyde’s car.

“Bebe’s party’s tonight,” Clyde said as he started the engine, “and half of us don’t even have costumes.”

“Correction,” Eric cut in, leaning forward from the back seat, “none of us have costumes worth showing up in. We’re about to be roasted alive if we walk in with some lame-ass dollar store capes.”

Kenny smirked under his hood. “Then let’s fix that. Spirit Halloween run?”

Everyone agreed, and soon they were weaving through crowded aisles of leftover costumes. The store was already picked over, half the shelves were empty, but that didn’t stop the boys from making a scene.

Clyde held up a giant inflatable T-Rex suit. “I dare someone to wear this.”

“No way,” Tolkien said flatly, though he laughed anyway. “You’d suffocate in, like, ten minutes.”

Craig ended up finding a vampire cape that he threw on immediately, deadpanning, “This is it. I’m done.”

Eric grabbed a pirate hat and plastic sword, waving it around dramatically. “Captain Cartman, baby!”

Kenny disappeared for a while and reappeared with a devil costume, horns, cape, and a mischievous grin. “Guess this fits me best, huh?”

Stan, though, was more hesitant. He browsed slowly, eventually settling on a dark, distressed football jersey costume, like some kind of undead quarterback. The shoulder pads were exaggerated, his face paint smeared black and white, giving him a menacing but still recognizable look.

When they regrouped at the checkout, Clyde smirked. “Not bad, we actually look hot.”

On the way out, Kenny tugged a six-pack of beer out of his jacket, hidden under his costume. “Got us covered,” he said with a wink.

⸻

Back at Stan’s house, they rushed to change. Makeup smeared, costumes tugged on over jeans, Kenny fussing with his horns in the mirror. Eric kept complaining his pirate wig was itchy. By the time they finished, it was dark, and Clyde drove them to Bebe’s.

The house was already packed, lights flashing through the windows, bass thumping so loud they felt it in their chests as soon as they stepped out of the car. Kids in costumes were sprawled across the porch, laughing, sipping drinks, some already spilling into the yard.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Eric said, tugging his cape tighter around him. “Let’s make an entrance.”

Chapter Text

They pushed inside, weaving through the crowd. The music was deafening, strobe lights bouncing across the walls, laughter and voices mixing into the chaotic hum of the party.

Stan scanned the room almost instinctively. His eyes flicked past the vampires, angels, fake cops, and zombies until,

There.

Kyle.

Stan’s chest tightened immediately. Kyle was standing with Bebe and Wendy near the living room, drink in hand. The cropped striped shirt hugged his shoulders just right, the overalls fitting snug, the red socks ripped in a way that looked more intentional than accidental. His curls were up in two ponytails, two strands framing his face perfectly. The fake stitched scar across his cheek only made him look more striking, like he belonged in a movie.

For a second, Stan forgot how to breathe.

“Holy shit,” Clyde muttered behind him, following Stan’s gaze. “Is that… Kyle?”

Tolkien blinked, surprised. “Didn’t know he could pull something like that off.”

Even Kenny gave a low whistle. “Damn. He looks-“ he caught himself, smirking-“cute.”

Eric, of course, was louder. “What the hell? Since when does Kyle look like a damn Instagram model?!”

Stan barely heard them. All he could focus on was Kyle’s smile as he laughed at something Bebe said, curls bouncing, scar catching in the flashing light. For Stan, everything else, the music, the crowd, the chaos, blurred into background noise.

The music was already thumping by the time Stan, Kenny, Cartman, and Butters pushed through Bebe’s front door, arms loaded with chips, sodas, and Kenny’s suspiciously heavy backpack of “extras.” The house was glowing with orange and purple lights, fake cobwebs clinging to the ceiling and the smell of cheap punch wafting through the air.

Stan adjusted his half-assed football gear and tried to look like he wasn’t immediately scanning the crowded living room, but he was. His eyes darted past cheerleaders in witch hats, football players in skeleton makeup, and kids already glued to the snack table, until they landed on him.

Kyle.

Standing near the corner with Wendy and Bebe, red-striped crop top clinging to his chest, overalls fitted perfectly, curls pulled up into two messy ponytails that framed his freckled face, fake bloody stitches streaking his cheek. He looked, well, Stan didn’t even know how to describe it. Cute. Hot. Something in between that made his chest tight and his stomach twist.

“Holy shit,” Kenny muttered beside him, smirking as he clocked what Stan was staring at. “Little Chucky looks way better than the doll, huh?”

Stan swallowed hard, dragging his feet toward Kyle before his friends could say anything else. He had been trying for days to break the ice again, to fix whatever wall Kyle had built between them. Maybe this was his chance.

“Kyle!” Stan called, raising his voice over the music.

Kyle turned, his green eyes flicking over him for a second before going back to his friends. Stan’s chest sank, but he pushed forward anyway until he was standing right in front of him.

“You, uh-“ Stan started, his throat dry. He wanted to say You look amazing or That costume’s actually perfect on you. Something simple, warm, and genuine. But his nerves scrambled his words.

“You, uh- you look kinda funny in that, dude.”

Kyle froze, his lips parting just slightly, his hand tightening around the red cup he was holding.

“Funny?” he repeated, one eyebrow lifting, his tone flat.

Stan’s stomach dropped. “No, I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like-

But Kyle was already shaking his head, letting out a short laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Whatever, man.”

And just like that, he brushed past him, disappearing deeper into the crowd of partygoers, curls bouncing with each step.

Stan stood there, heat crawling up his neck, realizing too late how bad that came out. He glanced back at Kenny, Cartman, and Butters, who were all watching with wide eyes and not even trying to hide their smirks.

Stan clenched his jaw, looking back toward the crowd where Kyle had disappeared, the sting of rejection hitting him harder than he wanted to admit.

⸻

Kyle pushed his way through the crowd, heart pounding faster than it should’ve over one stupid comment. He was annoyed- no, he was hurt- and he hated that it still had the power to sting after days of Stan’s lukewarm attempts to “be normal” again.

He found Wendy and Bebe standing by the snack table, both mid-conversation with some sophomore dressed as a zombie lifeguard. Kyle slipped between them, setting his drink down a little harder than he meant to.

“What’s wrong?” Wendy asked immediately, reading his face like she always did.

Kyle dragged a hand through one of his ponytails, trying to play it cool, but his words tumbled out fast anyway. “Stan just walked up to me and said I looked funny in this costume.”

Both girls blinked at him, stunned.

“Funny?” Bebe repeated, eyes going wide. She glanced at him up and down like she was making sure she’d heard right. “Is he blind? You look adorable. No, you look hot. Like, in the perfect mix way.”

“Seriously,” Wendy chimed in, frowning. “That’s what he said? Not, like, sarcastic and then he corrected himself?”

Kyle shrugged, heat rising in his cheeks. “I don’t know. He tried to backpedal, but I wasn’t sticking around to hear it. I just- I thought maybe after all this crap, he’d at least try to be nice. And that’s what I get.”

Bebe put a hand on her hip, shaking her head. “Unbelievable. I swear, boys are hopeless. He probably meant something else and just choked on the words, but still. You don’t say that to someone who clearly put effort into looking good.”

“Exactly,” Wendy agreed, her tone firm. “It’s like… he doesn’t realize how much it matters to you right now. And honestly, you’re allowed to be mad about it.”

Kyle exhaled, crossing his arms. “I’m not even, like… mad. I just-“ He paused, biting his lip. “I wanted him to notice. I wanted him to think I looked good. And instead, he calls me funny.”

Both girls exchanged a look, the kind that said more than words. Then Wendy gave his arm a squeeze. “For what it’s worth? You look incredible. Everyone in here knows it. And if Stan can’t say it right, that’s on him.”

Bebe leaned in, snapping a quick photo of Kyle before he could stop her. She grinned at the screen, then spun it around so he could see. “Yeah. Try looking at this and telling me you’re ‘funny.’”

Kyle stared at the picture, his curls perfect, the fake stitches bold against his skin, his smile caught in a moment he hadn’t even realized he was smiling. A tiny, reluctant laugh escaped him.

“Okay,” he admitted softly. “That’s… not bad.”

“Not bad? Babe, it’s killer,” Bebe said, looping her arm through his. “Now, forget Stan for a bit. Let him sweat. Tonight’s your night to shine.”

Kyle smirked faintly, but the ache in his chest didn’t disappear. He nodded anyway, trying to let himself enjoy the party despite the sting.

⸻

Stan leaned against the wall, red Solo cup in hand, pretending to laugh along with Kenny and Tolkien as they talked, but his eyes were glued across the room. He couldn’t help it, Kyle was everywhere tonight.

At first, it was harmless. Beer pong with Bebe, giggling when she missed, his curls bouncing in those ridiculous but somehow perfect ponytails. Then it was flip cup, where his concentration scrunched up his face so cutely it made Stan’s chest ache.

But when the juniors came over, buff football guys Stan vaguely knew, and convinced Kyle into doing a keg stand, Stan nearly choked on his drink.

Kyle laughed the whole way through, red socks flashing as he was lifted upside down. His curls tumbled toward the sticky floor, his shirt riding up just enough to show the pale strip of skin above his overalls. He was grinning, cheeks flushed, loving the attention.

And one of those juniors had his hands planted firmly on Kyle’s ass to keep him steady.

Stan’s stomach twisted with something sharp and hot. Jealousy. It burned in his throat.

When Kyle came down, coughing and laughing, stumbling in his socks, he was flushed and dizzy. He wobbled once, twice, then tipped sideways, right into Stan’s waiting arms.

“Got you,” Stan muttered, holding him steady.

But instead of smiling, Kyle jerked out of his grasp, eyes narrowed and glassy from the beer. “Why do you care?” he snapped, too loud, but the music swallowed it for everyone else. Only Stan heard it, each word like a blow.

Stan blinked. “What-?”

“You!” Kyle cut him off, his curls bouncing as he staggered back a step. He jabbed a finger into Stan’s chest, his voice slurring but sharp. “You’ve been acting so weird. Pushing me away. Then you, then you said I looked funny tonight, like you didn’t even, like it didn’t matter that I…” His words tangled, frustration spilling over.

Stan’s chest tightened. “Kyle, I didn’t mean-“

“You don’t realize!” Kyle nearly shouted, wobbling again, Stan steadying him out of instinct. His curls brushed Stan’s chin as he leaned closer, his breath hot with beer. “You don’t realize I’ve liked you for so long!”

The words hit Stan like a sledgehammer. His brain froze, his hands still gripping Kyle’s arms to keep him upright.

Kyle blinked up at him, realization flickering even through his haze. His lips parted like he regretted it, but the damage was already done.

The music thundered around them, people cheering from another drinking game, but Stan could only hear the echo of Kyle’s voice: I’ve liked you for so long.

Stan stood there frozen, Kyle’s words replaying over and over in his head. He couldn’t even move before Kyle gave a frustrated huff, curls bouncing as he stumbled away.

“Kyle-“ Stan called, but his voice got swallowed by the bass thundering through the walls.

Kyle didn’t turn back. He pushed his way through the crowd, mumbling something sharp under his breath that no one caught, and found himself in one of Bebe’s upstairs guest rooms, blessedly quiet, just a faint thrum of music from below.

He collapsed onto the bed, phone slipping out of his pocket. He blinked hard at the screen, eyes blurry, thumbs clumsy as he tapped out a message to Bebe.

“beebe cm brng me watr pls i ned it bt i cnt find kitchn lolol”

Then another:

“i m so maddd stna hess sooo dumb like whyy”

The words barely made sense, but Bebe’s phone buzzed downstairs. She glanced at it, immediately reading between the lines. “He’s upstairs,” she told Wendy softly, already grabbing a water bottle from the cooler.

Upstairs, Kyle groaned and pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes, curls sticking to his sweaty forehead. His phone buzzed, Bebe’s reply: “omw. don’t move <3”

A knock at the door, and then Bebe slipped inside. She didn’t say anything right away, just crossed the room and pressed the cold water bottle into Kyle’s hands.

Kyle blinked at it, then at her, then back at the bottle. “Ughh, you’re like… like… an angel.” His words slurred, but the relief in his face was clear as he guzzled the water.

Bebe sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a few damp curls off his forehead. “Slow down, Chucky doll,” she teased softly, trying to lighten it. “You’re gonna drown yourself.”

Kyle laughed weakly, then flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “I’m so mad,” he admitted, voice cracking under the drunken slur. “Stan’s so… so stupid. He doesn’t get it.”

Bebe’s hand rested lightly on his arm. “I know. But hey, you’re not gonna solve it drunk at a Halloween party.”

Kyle turned his head toward her, eyes glassy. “Did I… say something?”

Bebe tilted her head, hesitating just a beat before smoothing his hair again. “You said a lot of things,” she said carefully. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you through it tomorrow, okay?”

Kyle groaned, half hiding his face in the pillow. “Tomorrow’s gonna suck.”

Bebe laughed softly. “Maybe. But you won’t be alone.”

⸻

Stan had asked nearly half the party before someone finally gave him an answer.
“Uh, I think I saw him wobble upstairs,” a junior said, half-laughing, holding up his drink.

Stan’s chest tightened. Without another word, he pushed through the crowd toward the staircase.

At the same moment, Bebe was coming down, a near-empty water bottle in hand. She slowed when she saw Stan. For a moment, they just looked at each other, her gaze sharp, protective, but softening when she saw the raw panic written all over his face.

She exhaled, stepping aside. “He’s in the second guest room,” she said simply. “Go.”

Stan nodded, grateful but anxious, and climbed the stairs two at a time.

He found the door cracked open and pushed it quietly.

Kyle was there, perched on the edge of the bed. His legs dangled, short enough that his feet didn’t touch the floor, swinging absently like he was a little kid again. He wasn’t looking up, just staring at the carpet with glassy, unfocused eyes.

For a moment, Stan just stood in the doorway, his heart in his throat. Then he crossed the room and sat down beside him, careful not to startle him.

“Hey, dude,” Stan said softly, keeping his voice steady. He reached out and rubbed small circles on Kyle’s back. “You okay?”

Kyle didn’t answer right away. He blinked slowly, his curls sticking to his forehead, and finally muttered, “Mmm. Tired.”

Stan grabbed onto the easiest lifeline. “You need more water? Bebe gave you some, right?”

Kyle shrugged, leaning slightly into Stan’s hand without seeming to realize it.

Stan’s chest squeezed. He wanted to bring up what Kyle had said downstairs, those drunken confessions that were still bouncing around his skull like fireworks- “You don’t realize I’ve liked you for so long.”

But looking at Kyle now, slouched and hazy and barely holding his head up, Stan knew it wasn’t the moment. Kyle didn’t need answers. He didn’t need a talk. He needed someone to anchor him.

So Stan stayed quiet, hand still rubbing Kyle’s back in calm, steady motions.

“I’ll sit with you, okay?” he said after a moment. “You don’t have to talk.”

Kyle let out a small hum, almost a sigh, and leaned a little more against him, head dropping onto Stan’s shoulder. His curls tickled Stan’s neck, and his breath was warm, heavy with exhaustion.

Stan didn’t move, didn’t breathe too hard. He just sat there, letting Kyle rest, letting himself be the one to hold him steady while the party raged downstairs.

⸻

For a long stretch, the room was quiet, just muffled bass from downstairs and the sound of Kyle’s uneven breaths. Stan kept rubbing his back, slow and steady, trying not to think too hard about the heat building in his chest.

Then, in a slurred, almost mumbled voice, Kyle spoke.

“’M sorry…”

Stan blinked, lowering his head to hear him better. “Sorry? For what, dude?”

Kyle’s words stumbled out, heavy and tangled. “How I’ve been… actin’. Bein’ short with you. I just-“ He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand like he was trying to chase the words away. “I don’t… mean to. I just… hurts. Sometimes.”

Stan froze, heart racing, but before he could ask what Kyle meant, Kyle gave a small hiccup, then leaned heavier into him, head pressing against Stan’s shoulder.

“Forget it,” Kyle muttered, already fading. “You’re warm…”

His curls brushed Stan’s jaw as his eyes fluttered shut, body going slack like the steady circles on his back had lulled him into sleep.

Stan stared ahead, throat tight, one hand still resting on Kyle’s back as his best friend- his crush- slept against him.

Downstairs, the party kept roaring. But up here, it felt like the world had gone still.

Chapter Text

Kyle woke to a pounding behind his eyes, the kind of headache that made even the sunlight through the blinds feel like knives. He groaned, burying his face deeper into the pillow, curls sticking to his skin. His mouth was dry, his stomach unsettled, and his body felt like it had been through a war.

“Ugh… never again,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

He tried to sit up, but the motion made his head spin so violently that he immediately flopped back down with a groan. He pressed the heel of his hand into his temple.

The door creaked open, and Bebe slipped in with a water bottle and a couple of aspirin. “Good morning, sunshine,” she said softly, her tone a mix of teasing and sympathy.

Kyle cracked an eye open, glaring weakly. “Don’t. Too loud.”

Bebe laughed under her breath, setting the water and pills on the nightstand. “Drink these before you die on my guest bed.”

Kyle fumbled for the bottle, chugged half of it, then slumped back against the pillows. “What… happened last night?” His voice was shaky, uncertain.

Bebe tilted her head, watching him carefully. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Kyle squeezed his eyes shut, trying to piece things together. He remembered the beer pong, the keg stand, someone lifting him up by the waist. He remembered giggling. And then… a blur of yelling? His chest tightened.

“I… I said something, didn’t I?”

Bebe sat at the edge of the bed, lips pressed into a line. “Yeah. You did.”

Kyle swallowed, dread creeping in. “What did I say?”

She gave him a look, half gentle, half serious. “You confessed to Stan. In front of him. At the party.”

Kyle’s eyes snapped open, wide despite the pounding headache. “What?!”

“Shhh!” Bebe shushed him quickly, pressing her hand to his shoulder. “Don’t yell, your brain can’t handle it right now.”

Kyle groaned again, covering his face with both hands. “Oh my god. No. No, no, no. Tell me I didn’t-“

“You did,” Bebe said plainly. “And then you stomped off upstairs, still mad, and crashed in my guest room. Stan followed you a little later.”

Kyle froze, peeking out from between his fingers. “…And?”

Bebe sighed softly, but her lips curved in the tiniest smile. “And when Wendy and I went to check on you twenty minutes later, we saw him tucking you in.”

Kyle’s jaw dropped. His face went hot despite the throbbing in his skull. “He- what?”

Bebe nodded, her expression unreadable but her eyes kind. “He stayed with you until you fell asleep. That’s all I’ll say.”

Kyle flopped back into the pillow with a groan that was half despair, half something else he couldn’t put words to. His head hurt too much to untangle it.

“Drink more water,” Bebe said softly, brushing his curls back. “You’ve got bigger things to worry about than a hangover, babe.”

Kyle lay flat on his back, the ceiling fan spinning above him like a slow blur. His curls were a sweaty, knotted mess, and the blanket had tangled around his legs sometime during the night. His head was still pounding, and every time he tried to swallow, his throat felt like sandpaper.

The buzz of his phone on the nightstand made him flinch. He groaned, reaching over clumsily and squinting at the bright screen.

Stan: Should we talk?

Kyle’s whole body went rigid. The words blurred for a moment before sharpening into focus. He dropped the phone onto his chest, staring at the ceiling as if it might hand him an answer.

“Great,” he muttered hoarsely. “Perfect. Kill me now.”

From the floor where she was sitting cross-legged, scrolling her phone, Bebe glanced up. “What’s that?”

Kyle ignored her, fumbling for the keyboard. His thumbs hesitated, backspaced, hesitated again. He finally sent,

Kyle: i have a hangover so bad i can’t even leave the house rn
Kyle: but… what’s it about?

He clutched the phone tight, staring at the little typing bubble when it appeared. It vanished. Appeared again. His chest felt like it was going to split open.

Finally, the reply landed.

Stan: It’s about last night.
Stan: But it needs to be in person.
Stan: I’ll wait until you’re good enough to meet up.

Kyle’s stomach dropped like a stone. He tossed the phone onto the blanket and groaned, pulling the pillow over his head. “Oh my god.”

Bebe raised her eyebrows, already suspicious. “Stan?”

Kyle didn’t answer right away, muffled curses spilling into the pillow. When he didn’t move, Bebe crawled over, grabbed the phone off the blanket, and skimmed the messages herself.

Her lips twitched into a half-smile. “Well. Guess he’s not ignoring it.”

Kyle peeked one bloodshot eye out from under the pillow. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“No,” Bebe said calmly, dropping the phone back onto his chest. “This is the day after the worst day of your life. Big difference.”

Kyle sat up just enough to take a long swig from the water bottle, then immediately flopped back down. “He remembers everything, doesn’t he? I said it all. Out loud.”

“You did.”

Kyle let out a strangled noise, curling into the pillow. “And now he wants to talk.”

Bebe leaned back on her hands, giving him a pointed look. “What did you expect? For him to just… pretend you didn’t spill your heart out at the loudest party of the year?”

“Yes!” Kyle shot back before groaning again and clutching his head. “Or, like- at least ignore it until I bring it up. Now it’s… it’s real.”

Bebe softened, sliding onto the bed to sit beside him. She brushed a few curls from his damp forehead. “Of course it’s real. You like him. He knows. That doesn’t make it a bad thing, Kyle.”

“It makes it a thing,” Kyle said miserably. “I don’t know if I can face him like this. I’m dying.”

Bebe’s expression gentled. “Then don’t. He literally said he’ll wait until you’re good enough. Use that. Take today to recover, and then figure out what you want to say.”

Kyle sighed so hard it sounded like defeat. He buried his face into the pillow again, voice muffled. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“Believe it,” Bebe teased, though her voice was soft. “And believe this, too: he didn’t run. He didn’t ghost. He’s waiting for you. That means something.”

Kyle peeked at her again, face pale but tinged pink. His head throbbed too much to argue.

“Drink your water,” Bebe said, pressing the bottle back into his hand. “You’ve got more important things to worry about than a hangover.”

Kyle groaned, but he drank anyway, sinking deeper into the pillow. His mind spun, not just from the headache, but from the thought of Stan’s texts waiting for him.

He didn’t know if he was terrified or relieved. Maybe both.